


Betting Hearts, Wicked Grace

by tristinai



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Banter, Bisexual Cullen, Drinking and Gambling, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, M/M, These two are dorks, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Wicked Grace, and some snark, blowjob, cullrian - Freeform, hints of Cullen x Trevelyan, lots of flirting, nothing but warm Cullrian feels I promise, rimjob, sexy times with feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-12-16 00:20:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11817273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tristinai/pseuds/tristinai
Summary: Cullen is terrible at Wicked Grace so he enlists Dorian's help to improve. But as the night wears on and many glasses of wine are consumed, there is more than just pride at stake, especially when Dorian makes an interesting proposal.





	1. Serpents

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cap_Sweet_And_Salty_Sadness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cap_Sweet_And_Salty_Sadness/gifts).



> And here's my attempt at adding some positive vibes to the Cullrian tag! I had set out to write a drabble but I am terrible at those so here's a fic about Wicked Grace instead. I tried researching the rules for Wicked Grace but found only a little information on how it's played so I blended poker rules with what is known on the game: a game ends when either the Angel of Death card is drawn or if all other players fold. Feel free to school me in the comments if I made a mess describing Wicked Grace. This was edited without a beta reader so any and all mistakes are my own.

For what felt like the hundredth time that evening, Dorian sighed in frustration as he splayed his cards out on the table. “I'm starting to think you're losing on purpose, Commander.”

 

Eyes furrowed, lips drawn in a tight frown, Cullen stared at the hand he had played, as if glaring at the cards could somehow alter the outcome. When his displeased expression proved futile, he released an exasperated sound, folding his arms rather petulantly over his chest. “This is ridiculous. Why don't we play something sensible, that involves actual strategy?”

 

Dorian had to rein in his smile, lest it appear too fond, finding Cullen's disgruntlement endearing. He gathered their discarded cards, and began to shuffle for another round. “While I much rather enjoy showing off my prowess on a chessboard—”

 

“It appears _prowess_ has become the new word for _cheating_ ,” Cullen remarked.

 

The mage's stomach did a small flip at the nonchalance of the Commander's snark and he couldn't help feeling pleased to think that maybe he was rubbing off on the Fereldan. Or perhaps he could blame the warm feeling on the half bottle of wine he had already managed to consume. “—I would like to remind you that I wasn't the one who found myself bare-assed—though if we're both being honest, it would have been a delightful treat for all of you had I found myself in such a circumstance—at the mercy of one Josephine Montilyet, in what may have been one of the most savage losses I had ever witnessed in my thirty short years. And I have seen the Iron Bull crush in skulls with his bare hands.”

 

At the mention of the game Cullen had lost only a few weeks before, the Commander colored, his deep blush reaching the tips of his ears. “That—it was—it was by chance I lost and through no fault of my own!”

 

Stacking the cards neatly in front of him, Dorian cocked a brow. “We've been over this, Commander. _Wicked Grace_ is not how well you know your cards but how well you know your opponent. And while I find your inability to read other players... _charming,”_ at times, it really bordered on _vexing_ and tested the mage's patience when Cullen consistently made the same mistakes over and over again, “had we been playing by the same rules as we had with our companions, you would be very much sitting across from me right now donning nothing but that sulky scowl on your face. Though,” and he eyed Cullen meaningfully, the corner of his lip lifting in a small smirk, “I can't say I would object to a repeat viewing.”

 

If it was physically possible, Cullen became more embarrassed by the admission, dropping his head on the table with a groan. “Please tell me you didn't see... _everything_.”

 

“Oh, I did,” Dorian said, with a chuckle. “And I must say, it was glorious.”

 

“Maker, strike me down now.”

 

Still laughing, the mage topped off both of their goblets with the last of the bottle of wine he had brought. As much as he enjoyed teasing and flirting with the Inquisition's Commander, he knew how far he was allowed to push before venturing into that uncomfortable territory that would threaten the companionship they had found in one another. His growing attraction was something he could easily ignore but he didn't want Cullen to take anything he said too seriously since he looked forward to spending more evenings like this with the Fereldan.

 

“Rest easy, Commander,” Dorian said, bumping his knee playfully against Cullen's beneath the small chessboard table they had set up in the Commander's office many months before, “your secret is safe with me.”

 

Lifting his head to look up at Dorian, the gentle smile on the Commander's face made the mage's pulse race. “I know, Dorian. It's why I trust you to help me improve. Josie and Varric are already plotting another night and next time, I'm hoping to at least keep my smalls.”

 

Taking a generous sip of his wine, Dorian placed the goblet back on the table before retrieving the deck of cards. The alcohol had been working its magic all evening, the light buzz bringing an ease to the Commander's form, who often sat stiffly across from the mage and spent far too long contemplating, stoic and silent, whenever they engaged in any sort of game. It was nice to see Cullen relaxed, especially given how tense things had gotten recently as they neared the final assault on Corypheus.

 

“You may have been better off with our silver-tongued wordsmith. I can hold my own against the Ambassador and Varric, but I would hardly consider _Wicked Grace_ one of my talents—as numerous as they may be,” Dorian said, dealing out their hands.

 

Cullen took a smaller sip of his wine, having consumed a lot less and at a slower pace than the mage throughout the evening. But from what Dorian remembered, Cullen was a bit more of a lightweight and tended to prefer a hardy beer over the decadent wines and strong liquors that suited the mage's palate. “I have a feeling that had I asked Varric, he would find a way to make me even worse at it.”

 

Dorian wanted to point out that Cullen couldn't get much worse but decided, for once, to hold his tongue. “Perhaps you're right. He does seem to enjoy getting the best of you.”

 

If the result was a deliciously naked Commander, Dorian could hardly blame him.

 

After a few more games, and with the pair moving onto a bottle of wine from the Commander's stash, Cullen grew ever more irate at how easily he continuously lost to the Tevinter.

 

“Try not making that face whenever you have a bad hand,” Dorian said, setting his cards down.

 

“What face?” Cullen grumbled, throwing down his cards.

 

“The one you're making right now.”

 

“But I've been making this face all night.”

 

Dorian sighed. “I know.”

 

Kaffas, he was starting to think this endeavor was hopeless.

 

Unless...

 

Struck with a sudden idea, he took a long gulp of his wine as he felt the wheels turning in his head. He wasn't quite at the point of drunk he would normally need to be to suggest such a thing but perhaps it was the only way to get Cullen to stop focusing so much on his hand and more on his opponent.

 

“Maybe we've been going about this all wrong,” Dorian started, collecting the cards once more to shuffle them.

 

“How do you mean?”

 

“Without the right motivation, you can't be expected to gain anything from the wisdom I have imparted on you. I'd have better luck teaching a mabari to bark the Tevene alphabet.”

 

“I'd like to think I've made some progress...” Cullen interjected, unable to keep from frowning.

 

“And that you have,” Dorian added quickly. Though even that may have been an embellishment. “What I mean is that without an established _punishment,_ you continue to play without consequence. This may be hindering your progress.”

 

At the mention of _punishment_ , Cullen immediately paled. “Y-you can't mean—really, I'd much rather not—”

 

Realizing what the Commander thought he was suggesting, Dorian couldn't help but give a rich, velvety laugh. “Oh, Commander. I assure you that it was not my intention. Both of us have already seen what you're hiding inside those trousers and—while I would be delighted at spending the remainder of my evening getting an eyeful of a dashing, handsome man in his prime—I would not be so cruel as to subject you to a reenactment of the last time you stripped for _Wicked Grace_.”

 

Cullen sighed in relief. “Thank the Maker.”

 

He knew it was cruel timing to wait until the Commander had retrieved his goblet but, well, Dorian lived for leaving an impression.

 

“No, I intend to be the one to remove an article of clothing every time you _lose._ ”

 

Cullen choked on the wine he had attempted to swallow, red drops spilling off his lips as color splashed across his cheeks. He looked absolutely scandalized at the suggestion, eyes widening in disbelief, making Dorian's stomach do another one of those odd flips it had been doing all night. He should know better than to toy with straight men but he couldn't help it as his eyes followed the trail of a stray drop that dribbled down the Commander's chin, the mage's tongue darting out to lick his own lips, resisting every urge to lean across the confining space of the chess table and press his mouth to that chin, stop the wine's path before it dripped off.

 

With eyes averted, Cullen swiped the back of his hand over his mouth, in a gesture that should have been off-putting for someone as cultured as Dorian. But the sudden bashfulness only made him desire the man more.

 

“A-are you sure that's a good idea?”

 

Dorian took another swig of his wine, swallowing it slowly. For a moment, he swore he saw the Commander's gaze draw up sharply, golden eyes following the bob of his throat in a look that seemed to contrast the Fereldan's ongoing embarrassment. But if it had been there, it was gone before Dorian could read into it.

 

“Commander, if I didn't know any better, I'd think you almost wanted to see me naked—not that I would blame you,” Dorian teased, adding a wink for effect.

 

Cullen's face was so red, the mage was half-worried it would never again return to the pinkish hue it had sported earlier, when the effects of the alcohol had added a bit more color to those otherwise pale, fine cheeks. “I—it's just—you know how terrible I am at this—”

 

“All the more reason for you to focus on the advice I've been giving you.”

 

“—and what of the reverse? If you lose?”

 

“Both of us are well aware of my thoughts on you and your clothing, Commander,” Dorian all but purred. “But as I said, I would not be so cruel as to put you in such a state.”

 

 _Not again, anyway,_ Dorian couldn't help but think, recalling his own hand in helping Josephine get Cullen to his state of undress the last time they played.

 

He knew how Cullen was, carrying himself with a quiet reservation that was often difficult for most people to breach. Trevelyan had tried flirting with the Commander back in Haven but every time attention was directed his way, Cullen would scratch the back of his neck, babble nonsensically and retreat from the conversation. He was the kind of man who colored and looked away whenever a lewd comment was made, never mind how he would most likely die from embarrassment if within the presence of a naked person. It was a fitting punishment to set because he had no doubt Cullen didn't want him to be naked, even if the thought was a little disheartening.

 

“Shall we play?” Dorian asked.

 

He hardly waited for the feeble nod he was given before he was dealing out the cards.

 

The first game went disastrously. Maybe because the stakes had taken an odd turn, Cullen had a harder time focusing on his cards, much less looking at Dorian. Anytime they made eye contact, Cullen would quickly look away and clear his throat or make some other uncomfortable sound to distract from his blush.

 

He lost. Quite poorly. And Dorian had to pay the price.

 

“N-no, really, you don't have to—!”

 

“Fair is fair, Commander. And I am nothing if not a man of my word.”

 

Off came the first glove and something like relief on Cullen's face that the mage decided to start off slowly.

 

The next hand was hardly any better. Cullen's gaze kept drifting to the glove Dorian had left on the table and he seemed more perturbed by the consequences of losing than actively trying to not let them happen.

 

“Distracted?” Dorian teased, bringing his uncovered hand up to tweak his moustache.

 

Cullen followed the movement, tongue darting out to slide nervously over his lower lip. The mage's expression froze, need making blood rush to places he really shouldn't be thinking about but kaffas, what he would give to feel that tongue on any part of his skin.

 

“You look like an evil magister when you do that,” Cullen mumbled, dropping his eyes back down to his cards.

 

“Perhaps I am.”

 

When the Angel of Death appeared, the Commander was dismayed to learn he had also lost this round, forcing Dorian to give up his other glove.

 

“I shouldn't have discarded that Knight,” he said, gathering the rest of the cards and shuffling them.

 

“Your mistake was matching my bet instead of raising. You should have bluffed,” Dorian said, as he handed some of the coins he had procured back to Cullen.

 

“You're impossible to read.”

 

“And you're too easy to read.”

 

“It's impossible to focus when you keep doing...that.”

 

Dorian collected the cards that were shuffled out in front of him. “Doing what, exactly?”

 

“I don't know... _that._ ”

 

With a frustrated huff, Cullen gathered his own cards, peering over them for a considerable amount of time as Dorian imbibed more of his wine.

 

“At some point, you will have to make a move,” Dorian pointed out, bumping the Commander's leg playfully.

 

Cullen bumped him right back, his leg lingering for a few moments to slide almost intimately against Dorian's own. The mage's breath hitched, eyes glancing questionably at the Commander, who looked a bit too innocent over what was going on underneath.

 

“I need a moment to...gather my thoughts,” Cullen said, carefully.

 

When his leg retreated, Dorian had to hide his disappointment, his trousers feeling a bit tighter than they had a minute before. For the first time in the many hands played, he lost quite abysmally.

 

“Unfair,” he muttered, though it was the result him and the Commander had been aiming for all night.

 

Cullen's smile was far too innocent. “I have no idea what you are referring to, Ser Pavus.”

 

The next few rounds went evenly between the two men: Dorian lost his boots and a sock, then had to endure a few more hands with one of his feet bared and pressing into the cold, stone floor as Cullen won consecutive games. When he finally bested the Commander, he removed his last sock with a grumble.

 

“Your office is far too cold,” he complained.

 

Looking over the new hand he had been dealt, the Commander casually answered, “Perhaps you should find somewhere warmer to rest your feet.”

 

Dorian nearly choked on his own breath, the suggestion in the Fereldan's voice enough to make him shiver.

 

But like before, Cullen's expression remained pleasant, almost oblivious, to the thoughts he had conjured in the mage's head.

 

Still, Dorian decided to not let distraction get the best of him. Though his victories came at the cost of exposing his skin to the harsh chill in the Commander's office, he was far too proud to throw a game.

 

His next win was bittersweet, for it meant the removal of his robe and subjecting his chest to the cool air.

 

“They say heat does wonders for the flesh. In some cases, it may even prevent death as a result of hypothermia in this blasted cold,” Dorian pointed out, moodily tossing his robe over his chair.

 

“I've found myself in varying states of undress in my loft and have yet to catch hypothermia,” Cullen replied, a bit too smug for Dorian's taste.

 

Venhedis! The man was losing! What did he have to be so proud about?

 

“I think the more important question that such a declaration begs is what led you to such states of undress, Commander?” Dorian asked, his flirtatious tone sliding off his tongue like fine silk.

 

Cullen's eyes dropped to Dorian's bared chest, drinking in the sight of the mage. Dorian held his breath, attempting to pick apart the look the Commander was giving him in his appraisal, his skin thrumming with need to feel more than Cullen's eyes on him.

 

But Cullen was finally showing improvement, his face as unreadable as the tone he used in response.

 

“A question for another time, perhaps.”

 

With only his trousers and his smalls left, Dorian knew he had the advantage. If he cared so much about keeping what little clothing remained, he had only to throw the games, even if it went against how much he hated losing to Cullen. But as the wine diminished and his head became more foggy in the haze of inebriation, he found it more difficult to concentrate on what he had in his hand and became a tad belligerent when the next two games went to Cullen.

 

“It's easier to focus when you're not freezing to death in this blasted ice box you call an office,” Dorian complained, then finishing off the last of his wine.

 

Cullen did the same, emptying the rest of his goblet. “My offer from earlier still stands.”

 

The mage was a bit too drunk to remember what that had been. He thought little of it as he picked up his cards, trying not to moan at the shit hand he had been dealt. Normally, he would attempt to cheat and slip in cards he had hidden in his robes from previous rounds but he was currently at a disadvantage for that tactic, given his state of undress.

 

It was well into the round that he finally recalled what Cullen had said earlier,

 

With a look of schooled innocence, he moved his leg, sliding it against the Commander's. He was rewarded with a sharp intake of breath, golden eyes widening, a tongue darting out to soothe over dried lips. Cullen kept his head down to stare at his cards, but Dorian knew the effect he was having on the man, felt only encouraged to move his foot up the Commander's leg.

 

Either way, it was certainly better than having his feet planted on the stone floor.

 

Discarding two of his cards, Dorian withdrew two more from the deck, his foot brushing the inside of Cullen's leg, above his knee. He was dismayed to see he had drawn two cards that he didn't need, effectively giving him one of the shittiest hands he's had all night, but he tossed a coin in the center of the table.

 

“I raise,” he said, keeping his face a mask.

 

Cullen furrowed his brows, staring quite hard at his hand. Dorian's foot had set its path to the inside of the Commander's thigh, inching higher, reaching towards its destination. As it brushed along Cullen's leather trousers, the Commander's breathing became heavier, hands gripping his cards so tightly, Dorian half expected them to tear.

 

_That's it, Commander. Right where I want you..._

 

When his foot brushed against the edge of a bulge that had formed in Cullen's pants, the Commander yelped, standing up so abruptly that his chair clattered to the floor. Face red, exhaling in small pants, he threw his cards on the table, folding his hands protectively over his chest.

 

“I fold!” he said, a bit too loudly.

 

Dorian looked at the upturned hand, gaping. They hadn't even withdrew the Angel of Death card yet and already, Cullen had a full suit. All he had to do was match the bet and wait out the game and he would win.

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“Maker, yes!” Cullen squeaked.

 

He coughed uncomfortably, picking up his discarded chair. He seated himself quickly, shifting to try and keep the half-hard erection he was sporting from Dorian's curious eyes but the mage had all the evidence he needed for how much his dirty tactic had affected the Commander.

 

But his joy was short-lived as he remembered the terms of the game.

 

“Kaffas! Next time we do this, it better be in a bloody sauna,” he complained, standing up to shimmy out of his trousers.

 

His smalls caught on the clasp, dragging low enough to expose the thin trail of dark hair leading down to his groin. He managed to keep his small clothes low enough on his hips to not give the Commander an eyeful of something he imagined the other man had little interest in seeing but when he went to sit down, trousers tossed over top of his discarded robe, the look Cullen was giving him was something he had never seen on the Commander's face before.

 

_Venhedis, he can't possibly...???_

 

But if Dorian was shocked, he refused to let it show.

 

“Like what you see, Commander?” he asked saucily, throwing an arm back over the top of the wooden chair.

 

Cullen ducked his head to hide his face, mumbling something incoherently as he gathered the cards.

 

Dorian knew it wasn't interest, only the alcohol talking. With the raised tensions as they gathered the rest of their armies and the many nights spent pouring over missives and maps while struggling with his withdrawals, Cullen had gone probably as long as many in the Inner Circle without intimacy and to have it so casually offered in flirtatious jibes and discreet rubbing was making him naturally react to a situation that otherwise wouldn't fall into what the mage assumed were the Commander's usual proclivities.

 

Still. It didn't mean he wasn't going to tease Cullen a bit, if only so they could laugh it off later, when both were sober.

 

“Cullen, wait.”

 

He stopped the Commander as he was dealing the cards, his hand reaching out and brushing the Fereldan's. It was like touching fire, skin aflame from where contact was made, stirring an ache in him that threatened to explode.

 

Almost as quickly, Dorian withdrew his hand and...Maker, was he blushing?

 

Dorian _didn't_ blush.

 

“Dorian?”

 

The mage looked into those questioning eyes, at the warmth that resided there. For the first time in as long as he could remember, Dorian felt something other than a passing fancy for a pretty face, something that threatened to pull him under, to overwhelm him with the thought of _what if?_

 

 _What ifs_ were dangerous, had a way of making and breaking those of unshakable will, leading to _possibility._ And Dorian knew better than to entertain such notions.

 

So instead, he leaned back in his seat, quirking a brow, the picture of nonchalance even when there was a storm raging inside his chest. “Let's make this our last game. I'm certain you have your duties to get back to and I am rather fond of my beauty sleep.”

 

Cullen looked noticeably disappointed but conceded. “You make a fair point.”

 

“So if it's to be our last game, I say we raise the stakes...if you are so inclined to unconventional proposals.”

 

“I'm fairly certain you discarding your clothing every time _I_ lose already falls in the realm of unconventional,” Cullen answered, his remark earning an approving smile from Dorian.

 

“My, my, Commander. You've become quite practiced in using that tongue of yours.”

 

“Dry humor is not the only thing my tongue is practiced in.”

 

Venhedis, this man was going to be the death of him!

 

“Careful, Commander. I may be tempted to ask for a demonstration if you keep saying things like that,” Dorian purred. “But I can guarantee that my proposal is nothing nearly as salacious or involves your tongue. I suggest we keep our terms. However, should you find yourself with a losing hand, it will be _you_ who removes my smalls.”

 

It was bold, brash, the kind of daring move a betting man with everything to lose and so little to gain would make in desperation to walk away with _something_. It had nothing to do with their cards and everything to do with the intoxicating desire that made Dorian abandon all rational thought and push those boundaries he had been toeing all evening.

 

Cullen went silent, a pensive expression on his face. The lust-filled tension that had been lingering all evening shifted into something else as a tiny voice inside Dorian's head wondered if he had pushed the Commander too far.

 

But when the Commander met his eyes, it was with a schooled glance, the one he had been practicing all evening.

 

It was frustrating that when Cullen finally followed the advice Dorian had been drilling in his head all night, it meant that the mage had no idea what the man was thinking.

 

“I agree to your terms, Ser Pavus.”

 

It was with a racing pulse that Dorian accepted the cards he was dealt.

 

As they began their final game, many thoughts went through Dorian's head. The first was that he needed to throw the game because, while a flirty and compliant, probably drunk Cullen was fun now, a rather straight and sober Commander later, who most likely would not feel appreciated being taken advantage of, was not something Dorian wanted on his consciousness. On the other hand, he was most likely drunker than Cullen, hence why he proposed such a ridiculous thing to begin with, and just because he allowed the Commander to pull off his smalls, it didn't mean anything sexual had to come of it.

 

But as the game continued, both men refusing to give anything away in the neutral glances they exchanged, that growing fear became deafening, prompting the sobriety the mage needed to start weighing his options sensibly. Deciding some bets weren't worth it, Dorian began discarding anything that appeared the least bit useful. By the time the Angel of Death card made its appearance, with both men still clinging to their bets, he was left with a rather terrible hand, a single pair suit.

 

“It appears you called my bluff,” Dorian sighed, feigning disappointment.

 

Well, he was actually disappointed but knew any desire he had for Cullen was not worth the risk of their friendship.

 

Cullen chuckled as he glanced over Dorian's hand. “I suppose I should consider myself lucky that it's not my state of undress we were betting on.”

 

He revealed his hand one card at a time, pausing between each card for the kind of dramatic embellishment Dorian would normally milk, had the tables been turned. Dorian was surprised to note that the Commander's hand was worse. Suspiciously worse.

 

“...how you managed to go nine rounds carrying a hand that atrocious is how you ended up losing your clothes in the first place,” Dorian remarked.

 

“You may be right about that,” Cullen said, with a shrug. “I am awful at _Wicked Grace._ ”

 

_Unbelievably awful._

 

But Dorian didn't dare hope he had lost on purpose. He couldn't have.

 

“And now, Commander: your punishment for ignoring such sound advice and playing that Maker awful hand,” he said, struggling to keep his voice even. But it was difficult when Cullen was looking at him like _that._ “I believe there are a pair of smalls that require your specific attentions in their removal.”

 

He stood up, in nothing but his dark silk smalls, a tiny shiver making him tremble. But it had nothing on the ravenous look in the Commander's gaze, standing to his full height to sidle up close to Dorian, a beast cornering its prey. The mage wanted to ask, needed to know, if this was something Cullen had always intended but he could only shudder when Cullen leaned in to brush his lips against Dorian's ear, his breath a whisper on tanned flesh that made it burst with the ache to be touched.

 

“I just have one question, before I receive my _punishment,_ ” Cullen said quietly, fingers tracing down Dorian's sides, the ghost of their touch sending a warm tingle sparking along the mage's skin.

 

Dorian was always good at reading people, at knowing where to find the cracks to see past their facades. What he had always found comforting in Cullen was how easy the man was to read, how plainly and simply he spoke, how he had opened himself willingly to the friendship Dorian had offered, even after a bad first impression that had nearly put both men off each other.

 

What Dorian would have never anticipated was the lifting of a scarred lip as the Commander pulled back, the hint of a smirk that was as victorious as it was sexy. Golden eyes that gazed hungrily into his gray ones, blown with lust that had his cock twitching to life in the mage's smalls. Cullen slowly dropped to his knees, hands grasping the mage's hips possessively, leaning his head forward until his lips were all but pressed to where a bulge had formed in the mage's underclothes. It made Dorian's heart thud rapidly in his chest, had his breath catching in his throat.

 

It was then that Dorian realized: the bashfulness, the repeated errors, throwing the final game as he had...

 

The Commander had played him.

 

Cullen was still looking up at him expectantly, waiting for the mage to say something. But Dorian was in shock, mouth gone dry, unable to form words at this unexpected turn of events.

 

“And that is?” he finally whispered, his voice coming out hoarsely.

 

Cullen mouthed playfully at the hem of the smalls, a tiny whimper spilling off Dorian's lips. When he looked back down at the ex-templar kneeling before him, Cullen's smirk became positively wicked.

 

“May I use my teeth?”

 


	2. Knights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen has wanted few things in his life: an end to the madness in Thedas, peace between mages and templars, to eliminate lyrium addiction among his peers...
> 
> But Maker, has he never wanted anyone the way he wants Dorian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went for sexy and ended up with more fluff than I expected. My attempt at a friends-to-lovers Cullrian fic, set within established game canon. Also dedicated to the lovely [Kalisca](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalisca/pseuds/Kalisca), who needs some TLC in the written word after having endured my _Actiones secundum fidei_ verse.

With the band of the silk fabric between his teeth, Cullen began to tug it slowly down the mage's hips, his heart thudding so rapidly in his chest, it nearly drowned out the sound of Dorian's hitched breath. He could hardly believe he was doing this, after months of ignoring his growing affection for the Tevinter, telling himself that it was only the comfortable companionship they had formed that filled him with warmth every time he was in the mage's presence.

 

But then he remembered the night of his loss to Josephine, sitting across from his companions with only the cards in hand to shield his nudity, and the fleeting glances Dorian had kept sneaking when he assumed Cullen hadn't been looking.

 

The heat in the mage's eyes had stirred something in Cullen long buried, something the ex-templar had not felt in years.

 

And for the first time, Cullen started to consider the possibilities.

 

So, under the guise of wanting to improve, he figured why not add _Wicked Grace_ to the list of activities him and Dorian engaged in. If it meant sparing more time to see the mage, the result was worth it.

 

And maybe Cullen was a bit deceptive when it came to hindering his own improvement but that just meant Dorian had to put in more time to “teach” him.

 

The fabric inched down lower, Cullen's nose brushing into the trail of hair he had received a glimpse of earlier when the mage had been stripping. He could already catch a whiff of Dorian's musky scent from the beads of pre-cum that had left a damp mark in the mage's smalls and it made blood rush to the growing erection Cullen had been sporting for the better part of the last hour, no thanks in part to Dorian's devious foot tactics and brazenly showing off what he hid beneath his robes. If doubt had existed before of how deep his desire for the mage ran, Cullen had only to trace his fingers along the tanned skin Dorian had so graciously unveiled, feel his pulse race and stomach flip each time those stormy, gray eyes lit with the same insatiable hunger that made Cullen ache to taste those lips he had yet to kiss, to know he was a daft fool for having ignored this for so long.

 

His mouth bumped the tip of the bulge he had yet to uncover, lips taking great care to tug back the fabric so he could pull it over Dorian's cock. His mouth was already watering at the prospect of exposing the rest of the mage, the silk fabric becoming moist between his lips. The sound it elicited from Dorian when the edge of Cullen's lip brushed against the head of of the erection he was about to unveil only empowered that growing need to worship every inch of the mage's skin.

 

But before he could go further, a firm hand on the ex-templar's shoulder made him pause.

 

“Alright, Commander. You've had your fun. Perhaps it's best we call it a night before either of us does something we regret.”

 

Feeling the gentle push on his shoulder, the Commander released the band, watching with dismay as Dorian stepped back from him, tucking the bit of him Cullen had managed to expose back into his smalls. Though his cheeks still wore the color of his inebriation, the hunger that had been in those eyes earlier was gone, replaced with a mask that left dread seeping low in Cullen's chest.

 

_But I thought..._

 

His cheeks colored at the revelation that he had misread all of Dorian's flirting.

 

Maker, how could he be so stupid?

 

“I—I'm sorry, Dorian. I thought—”

 

“It's quite alright, Commander. There's no need to apologize. They say the combination of alcohol and gambling can make us do silly things. And I suppose if one has gone so long without... _intimacy_ , anyone who offers a solution to such a predicament can suddenly appear desirable.”

 

It made Cullen's heart sink as his head made the connections and he realized what Dorian was trying to say.

 

Dorian was trying to let him know, gently, that his flirting had only been the result of alcohol and desperation. He didn't care for the Commander in _that_ way.

 

“I must insist on offering my sincerest apologies,” Cullen started again, even as Dorian was reaching for his trousers, refusing to look at the Commander. He probably felt secondhand embarrassment for the absolute fool Cullen had made of himself. “It was selfish of me to take advantage of the situation, when all you were doing was trying to help. I hope my interest in you hasn't damaged our friendship.”

 

The mage's hand paused, lingering over where he had thrown his discarded clothing on his chair. Cullen could feel his face growing impossibly hotter, losing all the confidence he had displayed minutes earlier, now that he knew the mage's heart.

 

The look Dorian regarded him with was something of shock, which only made everything more confusing.

 

“Your interest?”

 

By Andraste, was Dorian really going to make him spell it out?

 

“Y-yes,” Cullen stuttered, scratching the back of his neck uncomfortably. He squirmed a little under Dorian's scrutiny, not certain what the mage was seeking. “I've...felt this way about you for some time. Perhaps I shouldn't have been so brazen in my affection. I assure you, it won't happen again.”

 

His answer only made Dorian look even more dumbfounded.

 

“But you don't prefer men,” the mage muttered, maybe more to himself than to Cullen.

 

Cullen couldn't understand why Dorian cared for whatever sexuality he prescribed to, especially if the mage had been trying to let him down gently a moment before.

 

“I...suppose I can't commit to a preference,” Cullen said, though it was not without a hint of irritation.

 

Sure, his past experiences had been limited and primarily with women, but he had never really thought about what that made him, if such a thing even mattered. He knew where Dorian came from, interest in the wrong gender carried with it more stigma than in Fereldan. Perhaps interest in more than one was even worse?

 

Not liking how scrutinized he felt, nor the mage's prolonging of the inevitable, Cullen struggled to not let the hurt show on his face. At this point, it just felt cruel the way Dorian was acting.

 

“So, if I am to understand this correctly, your interest in me has been more than amicable?”

 

_Oh, for the love of—_

 

“Yes,” Cullen affirmed, trying not to grit his teeth as he was forced to once again swallow his hurt pride. “And while I have developed a tolerance for your gloating, Ser Pavus, I'd much rather appreciate it if you didn't rub it in.”

 

The laugh that followed his comment was like a knife to his chest. It hurt to think that after everything, Dorian could only find amusement in Cullen's unrequited affections instead of respecting his honesty and moving beyond the awkwardness of not returning his feelings. He was starting to regret having been so transparent, but both of them had never let secrets get in the way of their friendship: after Dorian had been manipulated into meeting with his father in Redcliffe (something that Cullen still held a slight grudge against both Mother Giselle and Trevelyan for orchestrating), Dorian had come to him for consoling. When Cullen had nearly given into his withdrawals and taken lyrium again, it had been Dorian who had tossed away the last vials of lyrium, brought out the chess board, and spent the evening telling uproarious tales of being chased by bears across Fereldan and essentially distracting the Commander from his cravings.

 

So after all that their friendship had built, it felt like an unexpected form of betrayal that Dorian could be so flippant and cold.

 

Cullen had half a mind to say as much, to let Dorian know that he was not happy with having his feelings treated like a joke, when an unexpected warmth in the mage's smile trapped the words in his throat.

 

“And to think, I had assumed I was the only one who harbored such scandalous attachment,” Dorian said.

 

_...what?_

 

“What?” Cullen found himself asking.

 

The long pause Dorian took in responding nearly made Cullen want to pull out his own hair in frustration. Love or hate the man, the Tevinter had ever a penchant for the dramatic. “A Tevinter mage and a Fereldan ex-templar? It seems the kind of scandal one would read about in Seeker Pentaghast's horrid collection of literary trash.”

 

Maker, give him strength.

 

“...I'd much rather you explain what you meant by 'attachment'.”

 

The even longer pause Dorian took had Cullen scowling as he couldn't shake the feeling of walking on pins and needles.

 

“Now, now, Commander. No need to make that face,” Dorian said, the softness of his tone catching Cullen off guard. In nearly uncharacteristic shyness, Dorian abandoned retrieving his clothing, taking a small step into Cullen's personal space, the warmth radiating off of his exposed skin making the Commander's fingers itch to take hold of some part of him. But he was left speechless, bewitched, unable to do much else but hold his breath at the vulnerability that sparkled in the mage's eyes. “For, I assure you, those affections are very much returned.”

 

“But...what you said...”

 

“I had thought your... _condition,_ ” and he dropped his eyes knowingly to the bulge still pressing against the constraints of Cullen's trousers, “was merely the result of alcohol and lewd banter. That I happened to be the one putting you in such a state was more a product of circumstance. I may be handsome but I've seen you turn down handsome men before.”

 

_Trevelyan,_ Cullen realized.

 

“And, perhaps, I...never believed that you would be interested in someone like _me._ ”

 

Whatever Cullen had been expecting, it certainly wasn't the sudden insecurity Dorian was admitting to.

 

“How could you think that?” Cullen asked, staring in surprise at the mage. Andraste help him, his pants had become so tight to the point of painful. That it has been so long since he had experienced any kind of physical intimacy made it even harder to calm the angry throb in his breeches, his cock begging for attention. To make his point, he pressed up against Dorian, groaning softly when he felt the mage just as hard and wanting.

 

“Maker, I've never wanted anyone as much as I want you right now,” Cullen whispered, huskily. Even his hands trembled from the forced control, lingering low on the mage's hips, fingers itching to finish the task he had set to earlier, before Dorian's uncertainty had stopped him.

 

Temptation bursting with the same voracity as his wildly beating heart, Cullen reached up to cradle the mage's face, wasted only a moment in affirming Dorian's approval, before he was brushing his lips against those that had tormented him for hours with sly wit and salacious promises.

 

All at once, he felt the dam break, treading into an open sea and buoying himself on the only certainty of the affection that had poured off the mage's tongue, of the lips that were wanton in their desperate hunger for his, of the gasps that had him pulling Dorian against him, answering with a pleased hum of his own. The mage's skin felt on fire beneath his hands, his tongue that could be as sharp as a rogue's dagger becoming as pliant as the ore in a blacksmith's forge. Cullen could hardly recall anything tasting quite as satisfying as the hint of wine that lingered on the mage's lips.

 

Stumbling back until the mage was pressed against the small chess table, Cullen kissed him feverishly, hands running down the mage's sides, mapping unblemished skin that shook beneath his touch. Empty wine bottles and goblets clattered to the floor when the Commander rolled his hips against the mage but the sounds Dorian was making as Cullen nipped playfully at the Tevinter's neck only encouraged him to find all the ways he could make the mage come undone.

 

“ _Kaffas!_ ” Dorian swore, when the Commander palmed at his cock.

 

It felt heavy in his hand, the silk fabric wet where the tip strained for release. A gentle squeeze had Dorian gasping with need, rutting his hips forward into Cullen's hand, desperate for more friction. He answered by rubbing the mage's shaft as lightly as he could but even he knew he would not be satisfied until he had exposed all of Dorian to his hungry gaze, could give his cock the attention it deserved.

 

Falling to his knees, he pressed a tender kiss to Dorian's abdomen before making his way lower.

 

“Cullen—!”

 

The moan that ripped from the mage's throat when Cullen began mouthing at the tip of his cock sent a satisfying trill down his spine. He teased at the head with his lips, pulling at its silk barrier, moistening the fabric and coveting hints of the bitter pre-cum that had left their mark on the smalls. Still, it wasn't enough.

 

“Unless there are any further objections,” he teased, a hand sliding between Dorian's thighs to cup the mage's balls, “I think it's about time these came off.”

 

Dorian swore again as Cullen rolled them in his palm, alternating his grip as he rubbed them through the fabric. The heated look the mage was giving him had Cullen almost as impatient to finish his 'punishment' for throwing that last round of _Wicked Grace._

 

“As the Maker is my witness, I will never speak to you again if you don't get on with removing my smalls, Cullen Stanton Rutherford.”

 

“Then I suppose I have no choice,” Cullen said, with a low chuckle.

 

With the hem of the smalls between his teeth, Cullen took great care in tugging them down slowly from the mage's hips, relishing every inch of tanned skin he unveiled. Two dots he had missed earlier, low on Dorian's pelvis, begged for his attention and he pressed his thumb over both, landmarks he intended on revisiting later. When he finally released Dorian's cock from their silk confinement, it bobbed achingly before him, its weeping tip brushing against his cheek.

 

He looked up lustfully at the mage, pulling the fabric the rest of the way down until it pooled at the mage's ankles.

 

“I seem to have already made a bit of a mess,” Dorian mused, his thumb swiping at a drop on Cullen's cheek.

 

The Commander grasped Dorian's hand, pressing his mouth to the mage's thumb and suckling it clean. He could feel how Dorian quivered when his tongue rounded the tip, a show of what little skill he had but that he intended on employing on other parts of the mage. His experiences with cock may have been few and far between, but Cullen was always an eager student and had picked up a few tricks along the way.

 

His eyes did a full take of the naked man he had before him, drinking in the gorgeous sight of gray eyes blown with need, of the hard flesh that felt chiseled to perfection beneath his hands, and the cock that wept for him.

 

“Maker, Dorian...you're...”

 

Cullen sought the word, left speechless as nothing would do justice to the swell of emotion he felt in that moment.

 

“I imagine what you're looking for is 'the Maker's gift to man' or some variation of the sentiment,” Dorian said, his lip quirking.

 

“...impossible,” Cullen decided, with a small laugh.

 

He chose to lock away that feeling for later, much more interested in exploring the sight before him.

 

“Now that you have me undressed, whatever do you intend on doing with me?”

 

Cullen kissed the dots he had traced earlier, lingering only long enough to lick at one of them. A hand brushed up one of Dorian's inner thighs teasingly, his golden eyes darting up to the mage. “I will defer to you, Lord Pavus. I am certain you have a suggestion or two.”

 

“That tongue of yours has gotten quite smart as of late. I think it's time you showed me its _other_ _talents._ ”

 

“As you wish.”

 

He began by grasping Dorian's cock at its shaft, giving a gentle stroke and eliciting a pleasured gasp from the mage. Swiping his tongue over the tip, he retrieved the beads of pre-cum that had pooled in the slit, savoring the taste of it with a satisfied moan. Then, lips pursed against the head, he slowly took Dorian in his mouth.

 

“Cullen!” Dorian cried out with a deep, throaty groan.

 

Nothing had ever sounded as sweet to his ears as the sound of his name spilling off the mage's lips with such need.

 

His tongue swirled around the heavy cock, tracing the girth of it, relaxing his jaw to let it settle as far back as he could comfortably take the mage. He deep throated the mage a few times, partly to test his limits but also to show off what his mouth was capable of.

 

“ _Fasta vass!_ Did they teach you that in the Chantry?” Dorian moaned, gripping the chess table hard to keep his balance.

 

Cullen removed his mouth with a lewd pop, catching the trail of saliva with his hand and stroking Dorian's shaft with a firm grip. The mage keened, head thrown back, mouth left agape and Maker, did he ever look the part of absolutely debauched.

 

“That...among other things,” Cullen answered, briefly recalling hidden corners and breathless gasps in those few stolen moments of his youth, when even his bashfulness couldn't hinder the lure of an attractive face.

 

Returning his attention to where it mattered most, Cullen's lips rolled over the tip, alternating between sucking unrestrained and circling his tongue over the head, drawing out a cacophony of sounds from Dorian. The mage's long fingers tangled in his hair, tugging with just the right amount of force to make Cullen's stomach curl with the delirium of knowing he was making the Tevinter slowly abandon restraint.  
  
Maker help him, he wanted Dorian to fuck his mouth hard.  
  
Bobbing over the length, Cullen's groan was salacious, fingers digging into the mage's hips in a bruising grip. He practically gagged each time he swallowed the entirety of Dorian's cock but he was unrelenting in his desire to bring the mage closer to the edge. He couldn't be sure if it was his eagerness to feel Dorian cum or Dorian's, but the mage finally surrendered control, pounding into the Commander's mouth, each roll of his hips slamming his cock against the back of the Fereldan's throat.  
  
" _Kaffas_ , Cullen!"  
  
The litany that followed was a string of curses even Cullen wasn't familiar with, the Tevene words sultry and breathless, Dorian practically weeping for the release that was coming. His hips snapped forward, fingers pulling viciously at the Commander's hair but the pain was worth it when Cullen felt the warm spilling of the mage's bitter seed at the back of his throat, the Fereldan's name a half-finished groan that he would be remembering for days to come.  
  
Stroking the base of his cock, Cullen coaxed the mage through the rest of his release, gluttonous in how he swallowed every last drop. His throat felt hoarse, stinging from having been jabbed continuously with such force, but a look at the absolute state of contentment he had left the mage, his normally careful composure marred by his disheveled hair and quivering hips, made Cullen smile in satisfaction.  
  
" _Venhedis_ , it's been a while since I..." Dorian said, his voice trailing off with a sigh.  
  
Cullen swiped his tongue over his lips, catching the last of the cum that remained. As he stood up, holding back a pained groan from the strain in his knees (in hindsight, perhaps kneeling on the stone floor to suck off the mage hadn't been his smartest decision that day), he leaned forward, desiring nothing more than to kiss the mage in his post-orgasm bliss, but hesitated. The taste of him was still strong on Cullen's tongue and he wasn't sure how Dorian would feel about that.  
  
His concerns, however, were for naught as Dorian pulled Cullen into his arms, kissing the Commander deeply. Wrapped in his embrace, Cullen could feel how Dorian still trembled and it sent a pleasing trill bursting in his chest, knowing he was the cause of that.

 

Even once their kiss broke off, Cullen refused to let go of Dorian, brushing a hand through the mage's damp locks, his expression softening at the swell of adoration he felt for the man he held in his arms.

 

“I believe it's been years since I've had...intimacy,” Cullen admitted, feeling a bit sheepish.

 

When the mage's hand strayed to cup the evidence of his desire for the Tevinter, the Commander had to bite back the loud groan that would have otherwise ripped from his throat at the unexpected contact.

 

“Then we should correct that. It seems only fair,” the mage reasoned.

 

Gasping as Dorian kissed him again, the mage shifted them until Cullen was practically sitting on the chess table, this time, cards and forgotten coin littering the floor around them. But having more muscle on the mage made the small table groan under his weight and though he was quite distracted by how Dorian fondled him outside of his trousers, a sudden crack had him stumbling off before the table could break.

 

“Perhaps we'd best continue this upstairs,” Dorian whispered, with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

 

Cullen followed the mage obediently towards the ladder, ever the gentleman and allowing the mage to make his way up first. He was rewarded with the sight of undeniably one of Dorian's greatest physical assets as those long legs carried the mage up to the loft. Mesmerized, he nearly tripped off the ladder in his haste to make it up and gratefully accepted the hand he was offered as Dorian helped pull him up the rest of the way.

 

“Impatient?” Dorian teased.

 

Cullen grasped the mage tightly, the heat of him warm and _right_ in his arms. “

 

“There is one obstacle preventing what I had hoped to do next,” Dorian said, with a dramatic sigh. He traced his finger beneath the Commander's jaw, running it down Cullen's neck until it caught on the red shirt he was wearing. “One of us is woefully overdressed.”

 

“That sounds like quite the problem,” Cullen said. “Maybe you can help me with that?”

 

“Why, Commander, I thought you'd never ask.”

 

Cullen's disrobing lacked the same painfully slow strip tease he had been awarded by Dorian earlier. In fact, the mage let his own eagerness be known, hastily undoing the Commander's trousers and tugging off his crimson shirt with enough force to tear the seam of one sleeve. Kicking off his smalls and boots, Cullen couldn't help smirking as Dorian tossed aside the garment as if it had committed an offense by being in the way.

 

“Impatient?” the Commander asked, throwing Dorian's own taunt back at him.

 

The mage eyed Cullen up and down with a kind of hunger that made his cock throb. “I'd offer to buy you a nicer, finer shirt than those rags you insist on wearing. But I think I much prefer you like this.”

 

“I have other shirts, Dorian,” Cullen pointed out.

 

“And it would be a shame if they spontaneously caught fire,” Dorian said, his hand ghosting over hard muscle.

 

Grasping his hand, Cullen pulled Dorian towards him, guiding the mage as he walked backwards towards his bed. The breeze that slipped through the cracks in his ceiling nipped at his skin, but its cold caress failed to chill the heat of Dorian's gaze that bathed Cullen in its warmth, had him flushing to the tips of his ears. With the tables turned, he felt his earlier confidence begin to slip, exposed in a way he hadn't been for literal years.

 

“I'd like to think you compassionate enough to spare everyone in the keep the sight of me half-naked.”

 

“I hardly think your nudity would be an assault on anyone's eyes. And if the remarks Bull and Seeker Pentaghast made after the game are to be trusted, I'd say your shirtlessness would be most welcome by some.”

 

“Wait. Cass?”

 

Dorian chuckled and Cullen's blush only deepened further. He had witnessed how uncharacteristically loose Cassandra's tongue could get after a few drinks and could only imagine what sort of lewd gossip the Iron Bull must have extracted from her.

 

“Oh, the Seeker was as _appreciative_ of your assets as the rest of us, I assure you,” Dorian answered. “But your concerns have been noted and I have, ever graciously, decided to spare your shirts. Only because I am a selfish, selfish man, mind you, and I have always been told I am horrible at sharing.”

 

_Sharing?_

 

There was something possessive in the way he said it, even with that flippant tone he often used, and it had Cullen reaching up to caress the mage's cheek, lips brushing against the other man's, the desire to claim or be claimed leaving an insatiable ache that was both dizzying and heady.

 

A gasp tumbled off his lips when he felt the mage take him in hand, giving his erection a few gentle strokes. He bucked into Dorian's hand, the sounds ripping from his throat incoherent pleas to feel more of the mage's touch, to make that ache in him explode in the same way Dorian had done in his mouth.

 

“D-Dorian,” he moaned, leaning in for another kiss.

 

But Dorian pushed Cullen onto the bed before their lips could meet, falling on top of the Commander and pinning him beneath the mage. The Tevinter's cock was once again filling as he straddled the Fereldan, eyes flickering down to survey his intended prey, and Cullen was ready to submit.

 

“Patience, Commander,” Dorian said, pressing a finger to Cullen's lips, silencing any protesting before it could begin. “You've had your fun. Now I get to have mine.”

 

True to his word, the mage started his fun, bending down to pepper kisses on the Fereldan's chest. Cullen gasped as that famously glib tongue laved at his nipple, drawing lazy circles before continuing their trek down, pausing to lavish attention on his abdomen, to dip in his belly button with a quick flick of his tongue.

 

“I don't think you've told me the story behind this one.”

 

Cullen watched as Dorian traced a faded scar on his hip, the memory bringing a slight frown to his lips.

 

“It's not that interesting, really,” the Commander said, smiling sheepishly. “Branson and I were playing near this old golem in Honnleath—”

 

“A golem?” Dorian asked, raising a skeptical brow.

 

“—yes. And I may have...tripped into it.”

 

“...you _tripped?_ ”

 

Cullen laughed, coloring even more as he went for a more honest response. “So, I may have charged into it while playing 'Templar'.”

 

“...right. And I am certain the stone beast was quivering in fear?” Dorian teased.

 

“It, uh, wasn't activated.”

 

Dorian laughed loudly at that, his head dropping to Cullen's stomach. The Commander frowned but even he couldn't stay irritated at the mage for poking fun at him.

 

“I never claimed to have been a smart child,” he muttered.

 

“Well, if ever I see it, I shall challenge it to rectify the shame of having been maimed by an inanimate statue,” the mage promised, lifting his head and smirking.

 

But Cullen, recalling having seen the golem at the Circle Tower only a decade before, had a feeling Dorian would think twice before seeing such a claim through, though he appreciated the sentiment.

 

Continuing his thorough trek downwards, Dorian kissed the trail of light hair that trickled towards Cullen's cock. He let the mage's hands fondle at his lower cheeks, a light squeeze making him almost feel self-conscious for lacking the same delicious curve that Dorian donned, one of the many assets the mage could add to his list of aesthetically pleasing virtues. Cullen had never given much thought to the flatness of his posterior but he suddenly wondered if such things mattered.

 

“Relax,” Dorian said. “I assure you it will be far more enjoyable if you stop making that face.”

 

“What face? Am I making a face?”

 

“I believe that was the same face you made when 'bluffing' in _Wicked Grace._ ”

 

It made him feel even more self-conscious.

 

When the mage chuckled, Cullen attempted for stern but the look he was giving the mage somehow made Dorian laugh harder.

 

“You're really having me on while we're doing this?”

 

“I was hoping it would lighten that _sullen Commander_ mode you had temporarily slipped into,” Dorian teased.

 

Cullen was about to retort but the finger that pushed into him made him groan softly. It felt better than he remembered from the few times he had done this before, Dorian taking care to let the muscles relax before pushing in deeper. When he curved his finger, stroking quite intimately at a particular spot, Cullen's toes curled in response, a warm shudder shooting straight to his abdomen.

 

“M-Maker!”

 

Dorian looked more pleased than that stray cat that had gotten at one of Leliana's ravens (how the cat managed to take the large bird down still mystified Cullen). He probed inside the Commander for a few more moments, seeming quite satisfied with Cullen's reaction, before removing his finger.

 

“On your stomach,” he said, ignoring the disappointed look Cullen was giving him.

 

Doing as instructed, Cullen turned over.

 

When he felt Dorian part his cheeks, he hadn't expected to feel the mage's tongue slicking at his entrance. The soft lapping of the mage's tongue stroking at the opening had curses spilling off Cullen's lips, his hands burying into the blanket. It wasn't helping that he could feel the mage's hard cock brushing his leg as all it did was make him imagine what else could be filling him, how badly he wanted to feel the mage inside of him.

 

As Dorian's mouth became more eager to please, alternating between suckling on the spot and pressing his tongue into the opening, Cullen pushed back into the mage's face, desperate for more. He was almost ready to groan in frustration when the mage removed his lips to kiss tenderly at the Commander's cheeks but two oil slicked fingers, warmed from having conjured the substance, pushed into him, making him cry out Dorian's name. The mage scissored his fingers inside, stretching Cullen, preparing him. All the while, his tongue still teased his lover, dividing its attention by the opening and the skin just underneath. With Cullen now on his knees, hips lifted off the bed, he could feel the mage mouth at his balls, while still moving his fingers inside the Commander.

 

“D-Dorian, Maker, I—I want...”

 

“What _do_ you want, Commander?” Dorian purred, his other hand reaching around to stroke the Fereldan.

 

Cullen gasped loudly as the mage's fingers curled once more against that spot inside of him.

 

Dorian's chuckle was licentious, his fingers filling Cullen but not in the way that Cullen wanted. He knew this was the mage's payback for all of Cullen's teasing earlier. He also knew that Dorian may have been hard and aching for it in the same way he was but the mage would not give in until the Commander told Dorian what he wanted to hear.

 

“I want you to...take me,” he groaned out, blushing furiously at the admission.

 

“What kind of monster would I be to refuse such a request?” Dorian teased, removing his fingers. Cullen bemoaned the loss with a pout but did as the mage guided, turning over to face Dorian.

 

“An evil Tevinter magister?” Cullen offered.

 

He lifted his hips, settling them comfortably on the pillow Dorian had placed there, sighing softly as Dorian sank between his legs, slicked cock poking at his entrance. The anticipation of feeling the mage inside of him made Cullen's pulse quicken, a shuddering breath tumbling off his lips. But it was the forehead that pressed to his, the soft exhale that tickled his cheek, that made Cullen pull Dorian closer to him, and eased any lingering trepidation he had knowing that he was right where he wanted to be.

 

“Well, lucky for you, I am neither 'evil', nor a 'magister',” Dorian whispered, mouth quirking, before he pushed inside of the Commander.

 

* * *

 

“So, Commander, I must ask,” Dorian said, rolling onto his side, the glow of the candle making his skin glisten like molten in the aftermath of their lovemaking, “What sparked your interest in the first place? Was it my devilishly handsome good looks? My unmatched wit?”

 

There was only one answer to such question.

 

With a shy smile, Cullen pressed his hand over the mage's heart.

 

Its erratic beating made his thump a little harder. But it had nothing on the visible mistiness that had somehow found its way to a pair of beautiful, gray eyes.

 

“ _Vishante kaffas_ ,” Dorian mumbled, shaking his head and looking away. With a small chuckle, he added, “You will make a sap of this 'evil magister' if you keep doing such things.”

 

“I thought you said you were neither evil, nor a magister.”

 

“That's precisely the kind of thing an 'evil magister' would say to an ex-templar,” Dorian answered. “And if you can't call his bluff, Commander, you may lose more than a bit of coin.”

 

Rolling so that he could face the mage, Cullen brought his hand to Dorian's cheek, turning the mage's face so they were now looking at each other. Despite his glibness, there was a vulnerability in those eyes that Dorian rarely exposed, that spoke of the fear that often had him hiding behind his facades instead of leaving himself open to the fallacies that came when promises were left unfulfilled.

 

Cullen knew of Rilienus. Of Halward Pavus. Of Alexius. Of all the men who had broken Dorian's heart in all the different ways it could be broken.

 

And he vowed to never do the same, even if such words were too soon to speak.

 

One day. When the time was right, he intended on voicing such promise.

 

“Then I'm calling it now, Dorian, because I hope to make more than a sap out of you,” Cullen said.

 

Curiosity piqued, the mage's follow up question was said so quietly, it hardly traveled the short space between them, had the Commander inching closer until his own breath was a whisper against Dorian's lips.

 

“And what is it you hope to make of me?”

 

He traced his thumb across the mole he knew Dorian openly hated. _A blemish,_ the mage had once called it, nose crinkling in disgust. He still remembered how soft the mage's eyes had been when Cullen had called it _a_ _beauty mark_. As if the southern endearment for such markings had the power to wash away years of insecurity for one of the few parts of himself Dorian had always considered an imperfection.

 

“Mine.”

 

Taking the Commander's hand to entwine their fingers, Dorian gripped it firmly, folding their hands between their chests, his eyes shining.

 

“A final piece of advice, Commander,” Dorian whispered, kissing him tenderly. “You shouldn't bet on what's already yours.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is established, in canon, that Shale was deactivated from about 9:04 Dragon until the Warden activates her. So I'm assuming the children of Honnleath got into all sorts of mischief tormenting her. I kind of want her to come back in dwarf form in DA4 and have an awkward conversation with Cullen: "Hey, remember that time you..."


End file.
